Still Light Follows the Same Rules I Do
by AliLamba
Summary: 4 of 15ish / There are times when the water feels like slow suffocation.
1. from the haunts of daily life

**Still Light Follows the Same Rules I Do  
**By: AliLamba  
Thanks to: AB, and Jacks. I couldn't live without either of you. I AM SERIOUS NEVER DIE.  
Notes: This is a story that's been rattling around my head for awhile. It's not very…sophisticated, which is maybe why I chose to keep processing the original idea. Actually, the original idea has changed so many times that I have like three alternate timelines here. And no, I don't think this fic works best with Jack and Kate, just like my last fic. But for some reason I still feel like writing them, so there you go.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

There are times when the water feels like slow suffocation. It's those moments when you feel like 100 tons of pressure are pressing against you on every conceivable inch of skin, and liquid is begging to rush past your lips, seep up your nose…anything to fill the empty containers of your lungs and move, move, move, move, move. You never realize how frightening drowning is until you've almost done it once. And then twice.

But most of the time…

Dipping your toes past the cool, serene surface…submerging your head and watching your hair fan around the corners of your eyes…and slipping through the planes of water like you're part of its current…

It feels like breathing.

It feels like fresh air.

* * *

Kate is nervous, which is frustrating, because she's never nervous. She's looking everywhere, her eyes darting over every face in one of those vain attempts to recognize your surroundings. One clammy fist contains the schedule she had promised herself not to mess up, so when she looks at it later it will be slightly wet and mostly illegible. But she's holding on to her backpack straps like she wants to blend in, and mostly…she does.

Except for the fact that she wades alone in a sea of blue and red uniforms.

Their plaid, pleated skirts don't hide her old jeans, and their crisp blue blazers make her loose green t-shirt seem stained and faded. What makes it worse is that no one seems to be looking at her, not even the cruel sizing up of the "new girl". No one giggles behind her back, or tries to knock her stuff out of her hands.

The air's mostly cold, mostly wet, and she runs the back of her hand against her nose while she sniffles loudly.

Though she's trying to ignore the feeling, it seems like it's going to be one of those days.

* * *

Kate had packed a lunch that morning, but it took her until she was driving down highway I-80 West that she remembered leaving it on the kitchen counter.

"_Shit!_" she swore, more of frayed nerves than actual frustration.

It took her a few moments to remember that she should never be nervous, and that this was but one of almost twenty 'first days' she'd had in the last seven years. But why did she feel so jumpy? Why couldn't she find a comfortable position, getting distracted by the people standing on the corner or crossing the street?

Kate pulled her fingertips away from her closed lips, and used her free hand to smack the radio on. Forty-year-old country music started sifting through the speakers, and Kate forced the underside of her knuckles to pound out the beat against the steering wheel.

_Green light_.

Kate furrowed her brow, trying to force the music into her brain. She bobbed her head a little to the music, trying to move her shoulders to the rhythm when the car naturally dipped and curved over San Francisco's imperfect streets. By the time she pulled into the parking lot she had almost convinced her mind it was preoccupied by something harmless.

There were only a few cars filling the small lot (_Did no one drive? Maybe no one drives here. Maybe I should be taking the bus_), so she took an extra minute to pull out her headphones and portable CD player. The curved plastic was deftly familiar; familiar buttons and shape leading to familiar music.

…_There you go_.

Finally she felt at ease. Numb was probably a better word. Sam had sworn to her that this time she'd stick, but Kate knew that he couldn't make that promise. It was time to treat Sacred Heart College Preparatory School the same as she had anything else, which would probably last no more than three months.

_There_ were the usual blinders. She kept her chin down, her head full of noise. Familiarity with any school layout led her to the head office, and she was at the front desk before the first song had ended.

She looked up, and saw no one there. Cautiously she pulled the headphones down around her neck, and searched the back wall for a clock. All she seemed to see were the fake spider webs and ceramic cats wearing witch's hats.

Kate heard someone smile.

"First day?"

She hadn't even seen her. To her immediate left was a tall blonde woman in a lab coat. Her hair was dull and natural, and though Kate could only see half of it, she could tell this woman had one of those faces that made a person realize how imperfect their own was. The woman was softly smiling, while scratching a pen over some papers attached to a clipboard. Her body was leaned against the counter, and it was no stretch of the imagination to realize she was the school nurse.

"Uh," Kate stammered, and her voice was hoarse and unused. "Yeah. How could you tell?"

The woman's smile deepened.

"You're forty minutes early, for one."

Kate blanched. Her pale green eyes opened wide, and immediately snapped to the hanging wall clock she hadn't been able to find before.

_7:15_ it proclaimed, cheering "Go Hearts!" from its frame.

* * *

Kate wanted to double-check the room number, but didn't want to be as conspicuous as to pull out her schedule again. She'd been stuck with all the usual classes befitting of a 17-year-old girl: English, pre-calc, American history, chemistry, ethics and culture, French and good ol' physical education. She'd eschewed all the advanced courses, and no one really knew how to predict what she'd be able to handle anyway. In the end she'd decided not to say anything, and let them try and fit her where there was space. If it meant taking general chemistry – again – for the few weeks she was here, that was fine.

A bell rang in the corridors, and Kate threw herself through the doorway and into the classroom. Everyone was talking loudly, ignoring her. But when door accidentally slammed shut behind her, suddenly all eyes were sizing her up.

"Miss Austen," a voice mocked from the front of the room, and Kate now had a face to go with the name _Dr. Arzt_. "So glad you could be so _ethical_ as to join our class on time."

* * *

Sacred Heart was an all-girls school. She'd done only one of those before, when she was twelve-years-old. Sam had picked her up in tears during lunchtime, and she remembered how his military uniform had never been less comforting.

She was trying not to notice, but everyone at Sacred Heart seemed gorgeous. Not in the obvious way, necessarily, but in the way that meant they had the time and gene pool to take care of themselves effectively. As Kate drifted from one class to another, she couldn't help but notice that a few were using designer handbags instead of backpacks.

During lunchtime she wandered the grounds, trying to familiarize herself. They had a basketball court and swimming pool - an indoor swimming pool. Everything seemed done up in dark blue and deep red, though someone or some people had hung construction-paper signs announcing some sort of dance with a school called St. Ignatius. She assumed it was the male-counterpart.

She had to admit that the pool excited her. Swimming had probably been the most consistent thing about her nomadic life. There wasn't much decorating the walls in her new room back home, but there were a few second-place ribbons hidden at the bottom of her jewelry case. She poked around for someone to talk about joining maybe an intramural team, trying to ignore her grumbling stomach.

It wasn't until she was trying to find her last class of the day (she felt like she'd passed by the same hall few times already), that she realized how…completely unfocused the day had been. It felt like she'd been wandering through some sort of fog, and every surface seemed blurry. It wasn't that she felt sick, but rather…there was a sickness in going through the motions yet another time. She'd spent the last six hours dwelling. Dwelling on the fact that all classrooms seemed to stock the same linoleum tiles, and that all school bathrooms needed to involve exposed concrete. Teachers even looked the same; like they'd all picked their wardrobe from the same mail-in catalog.

Kate couldn't imagine a worse choice for last class of the day than chemistry. A subject that demanded attention and concentration was no good when you were already dreaming of freedom.

She probably should've already known that her teacher was the school nurse. Her schedule had only read _Burke_.

"Welcome back from your laps of luxury!" Ms. Burke cried, amicably. "I trust you all had time to go over the reading while you were hiding from the rain."

"Eff that," someone snorted from the front of the room. "Try Cabo." A few girls giggled.

"Mexico, wow," Kate's teacher drawled, humorlessly. "So I expect you'll have a lot of input on the pop quiz I've decided to entertain you with today."

There were a few groans, giving Kate the impression that the class was generally laid back. It gave her a sense of ease. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, having to repeat the same material she'd spent a few cumulative years on. It was also reassuring to be able to whiz through the quiz on recalled knowledge.

Ms. Burke put on a twenty-minute video while she graded the quizzes, and then spent the rest of the fifty allotted minutes going over their mistakes. When the final bell rang, there were slumped shoulders aplenty, but no one really looked pissed off.

"Miss Austen!" the cool voice called from the front of the room. Kate turned, and saw Ms. Burke motioning towards her. A quick glance around proved that no one cared about the new girl, so Kate proceeded, standing anxiously as her new teacher fished Kate's pop quiz from the stack on her desk.

"So exactly how many times have you taken chemistry, Miss Austen?" The voice was like raw silk, but there was a knot of accusation in her tones, and when Ms. Burke caught Kate's gaze, her eyes were unyielding.

Kate swallowed. The general impression of her teachers that day had seemed more keen on integrating her by ignoring her, and she hadn't had to say much besides "thank you" for the dumped-upon-her syllabi and text books.

"Uh." Her mind tried to catch up with her, tried to tally the number of months she'd been in a chemistry class, the number of extra hours she'd studied to keep up. "Maybe…twice?"

"Have you taken physics, biology? Environmental science?" Kate knew she looked panicked, as she slowly nodded to each one.

Ms. Burke's face turned sad, almost pitying, and she sighed. "I can't say that I think I'd appreciate you being in my class, Miss Austen, and I say that in the kindest possible way. Have none of your other teachers voiced objections?"

_No one else's thrown pop quizzes on the first day after a four-day weekend_, Kate wanted to say, but she bit her tongue and shook her head.

"I'm going to insist you apply yourself to an advanced science. You'll have to check with the front desk to see what's available."

* * *

Being back at the front desk annoyed her, especially when she had to pass her sweaty and crumpled schedule back to the round-cheeked secretary.

"Did you have a good first day?" she asked, her voice sugar sweet. Kate smiled tightly and nodded.

"Ms. Burke called ahead, and I've looked into it for you. Unfortunately, the only thing available is an AP Biology class. I don't mean to sound abrupt, but it's considered by the students to be one the hardest class on offer here."

"Uhm," Kate tried, sensing a pause for her own benefit, in which to decide.

"You know I'm sure it's okay. And if not you'll probably be moving on soon anyway."

As the red-haired secretary went back to her computer, presumably to change Kate's schedule, Kate had the impression that she didn't know how badly her words had stung. She checked the wall clock – Sam wouldn't be home until seven. Her life would be dull and lifeless until then, and even more so after.

"Do you know who does the swimming team here?" she shouted, almost too suddenly. The secretary didn't miss a beat.

"I'm assuming you mean the student coach? And you know her already. Talk to Ms. Burke any time and I'm sure she could find some room for you."

Kate felt a little empowered. On a whim she transferred to an AP history class as well.

* * *

As Kate leapt into the front seat of her truck, she was distracted by the sounds of giggling girls by the corner. Through the windshield she squinted to get a better look. Four girls were huddled together amidst a small group of guys, and they were striking for the fact that they could have all been Abercrombie models. They were tall, most of them, and lean, the blondes with that sort of tint they tried to sell you as from California sunshine. They looked…flawlessly casual.

When she hit the ignition and reversed, she didn't see the biker who was trying to escape the same parking lot.

The brakes _squealed_ beneath the hood.

Kate's breath stopped in her chest, her heart beating a million times in the middle of her throat. Not a second had passed.

There was the unmistakable _smack_ of a hand hitting the side of her truck. The cyclist was pissed, but fine, and proved this by peddling ahead of her, ignoring her completely as he turned onto the busy San Francisco street.

It took her a moment to regain her composure.

* * *

"So how was your first day?" Sam drawled, an arm casually draped over the refrigerator door, perusing the four items on the shelves inside.

"Well," Kate started, "I don't have a set schedule, I almost ran over a guy on a bike, and as yet I have no friends."

Sam didn't say anything. Kate had been hoping for a laugh, and the silence was so much worse. There was a dig of despair when he didn't step away from the fridge, but kept it open, avoiding her eye contact.

"Dad…"

He didn't look up.

"Dad…how long are we going to be staying here?" The question lacked confidence, and came out as a whisper. He didn't look up. He didn't look away from the fridge. And she knew that that was bad.

* * *

Claire was dancing around her room in her underwear. This was her _favorite song_. It was _loud_ and _obnoxious_ and _fucking_ _angry as hell._

A _brrrring!_ came from her computer, and she plopped into the chair to read her new message.

"_Agggh_," she groaned, reading what **Bassman97s** had to say.

_Will you listen to my song now?_

Her fingers angrily punched the keys.

"Hey _loser_," she said out loud. "Don't think I don't remember who you are. And you're starting to REALLY piss me off. How many times – no really! How many – must I say that I will NOT go out with you, ever."

She slammed her computer shut and reached for the flask sitting next to her laptop, swallowing three gulps of her father's expensive Scotch. There was a knock at the door.

"Claire honey?"

"WHAT. MOM." she yelled, flinging herself on her bed, monotone black hair fanning out around her. The door creaked open.

"I was just letting you know that we're going to bed. Don't forget to turn off your music tonight, okay honey? I love you."

Claire was silent as her mother paused in the door, then retreated. Claire rolled over and grabbed the remote control, cranking up the volume of her obnoxious ballad.

Life was such shit.


	2. common wants and common cares

**Still Light Follows the Same Rules I Do**  
**By: **AliLamba  
**Thanks:** to AB, noch einmal, because she's a sweetheart.  
**Notes:** Away we go…

p.s. warning to my jak girls, whom i adore: you have been used and ilywaytoomuch.

* * *

CHAPTER TWO: common wants and common cares

Day two. Tuesday. She's got AP Bio on her schedule now and a bag lunch in her backpack (apple, peanut butter and jelly, and some potato chips). She keeps feeling like her uniform is too tight, and it was too expensive in the first place… Sam's face was stony all of last night, during the three hours they spent sharing their living space while conscious. It hasn't been lost on Kate that her dad's been moody since they moved to San Francisco – he had to pull too many strings to get her into Sacred Heart, and some sort of guilt was weighing too heavily on him; a guilt of moving her around too much, of this being her last year of high school and having more than half a dozen transcripts. Of his only daughter having only one friend in the whole world.

This transferred guilt is rolling around in Kate's brain as she pulls into the parking lot at 7:40 in the morning. Her locker is on the first floor next to the stairs and science wing, and she stops by there first to drop off all the text books she took home last night. French is first.

Five minutes into class, the door flings open, and a leggy blonde waltzes in. This is what Kate understands:

"Sorry Ms. Rousseau, my driver [verbed] a [noun] and [verbed] coffee on the top of my [noun]. Naturally I [something] to home [word word word]."

Suddenly Kate was very scared. She started scribbling sounds down and flipping to the back of the book. This girl had used a tense she hadn't even _heard _of before. The teacher launched into a arm-waving-filled response, but the mental block was already up. The blonde student was rolling her eyes and dumping herself into a chair near the back, her cell phone already out next to her unopened text book.

Ms. Rousseau looked frustrated when the class settled it's attention back on her. "_Bon!_" she called. "You will prepare for me a [noun] for […Thursday?] and I hope you have a good time with the preparation."

Kate's shoulders scooted up around her ears, as she fought the urge to check the other faces in the class for one as equally confused.

Awesome.

* * *

Pre-calc came as cool relief. They were a few chapters behind where Kate had last learned, and polynomials came – for once – as a fun activity. After finishing her problems early, she tried to sweep her eyes around her new classmates unnoticed.

Someone immediately caught her eye.

She was picking at her nail polish, flat black hair hanging like a plastic carpet on either sides of her face. Her eyes were circled in layers of dark black eyeliner, and an empty piece of paper lay on her desk. Kate wasn't sure why…but she felt like she couldn't look away. It wasn't like she hadn't seen any Goth kids before; Arizona was full of them, for some reason. It was just how…angry she looked; how checked out, like she wasn't even in the room. Dr. Chang took over the classes' attention, but Kate found herself looking back every few minutes.

* * *

She realized how small a school it was when she ran into the leggy blonde and the Goth girl in her Ethics and Culture class.

"Papers! Papers please," Dr. Arzt demanded. Kate also knew that he demanded to be called _Dr._ Arzt. He was giving all the girls in the class a very hard stare as they staggered up to his desk, dropping off thin packets of stapled essays. His eyes fell on Kate.

"_Papers, please_," he reiterated, gruff and mocking.

"I uh," Kate stammered. "Sir I just started yesterday."

Dr. Arzt's frown deepened, like he was offended. "Then you had plenty of time to complete the assignment!"

Kate didn't need to look around the room to know that everyone was staring at her. She felt like a small child in a room full of grownups, and she'd just knocked over someone's glass of wine. _Why are you even in here?_

"Sir, you…you never told me it was due."

Dr. Arzt threw up his hands in a large, wide circle. "Oh, I find that hard to believe miss—" He checked his attendance log. "Miss Austen!"

When Kate's expression didn't waver, Dr. Arzt got flustered. "Turn it in tomorrow, _please!_"

Unmistakably, Kate heard the sound of two giggles behind her back. For some reason, she didn't want it to be the leggy blonde and the goth girl.

"Miss Rutherford and Miss Littleton, I would thank you to keep your amusement to yourselves? Thank you!"

The vein on the side of Dr. Arzt's neck was throbbing dangerously. He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the desk, his nostrils flaring as he took deep, calming breaths. "Ground your body, Arzt," he whispered to himself, and there was an unmistakable snort in the back of the room. "Find the center of your head…be in your bubble. It's your bubble. Ground."

He looked up, his eyes hawkish as they raked the room. "Okay class, today we'll be talking about genocide."

* * *

"Today we'll be continuing our introduction to badminton!" A perky blonde was dancing around on the balls of her feet, trying to shake out whatever excess enthusiasm was making her play with shuttlecocks as she led the class. "I'm going to need you to pair up – Sun? You'll now have a partner. Kate is new."

Kate looked up and around the room for someone who was maybe trying to catch her eye, but there wasn't anyone looking.

Libby Smith went over the finer points of serving, then she approached a pretty Asian girl with a stern expression. Mrs. Smith lightheartedly bumped the student on the shoulder and then pointed towards where Kate was standing awkwardly in her school-issued gym shorts and t-shirt. Kate tried to manage a smile and wave.

The girl known as Sun started walking towards her. When she was within a few feet, she stopped.

"You better not suck."

It was the only thing Kate heard from her all class.

But they dominated. After a few fumbles over her own feet in the first match-up, Kate and Sun became an unstoppable force. The period-long tournament seemed to fly by as Kate pounded the _crap_ out of the shuttlecock, sending it flying over the net, where it would lob back to her partner, who easily set up a straight _whack_ to send the birdie two inches over the net and straight at their opponents shoes.

It was awesome. It was _fun_. And Kate was pretty sure Sun smiled at her when they walked back towards the locker room after class.

So much was her enthusiasm, that she almost forgot that she was new. As she waltzed out of the locker room, backpack slung over her shoulders and ready for lunch, she felt a sense of ease. And then she saw the sea of cliques spread out over the courtyard that made up the front of the school.

"Impressive, no?"

A cool voice filled her left ear as a hand slipped against the inside of her elbow. Sun effortlessly started tugging her out into the middle of the fray.

"Y-yeah," Kate stammered, finding her footing.

It was a pulsating cesspool of perfectly shiny hair, dry cleaned uniforms, and 24-karat earrings. Everyone seemed to be busy – copying homework, writing text messages or eating types of prepackaged snack food Kate had never heard of.

All the hubub seemed to be carrying her though. Kate noticed that people seemed to move their legs out of the way for Sun, and bags were snatched up just in time. It was as if they were in some kind of current, and it was taking them somewhere.

Dead center, towards the back, were the models. It wasn't that everyone else wasn't pretty, it was just that these girls were _hot_.

And Kate recognized them.

The leggy blonde was sprawled out on a stone bench, her head resting in the lap of the goth girl. A sparkling brunette Kate had stared at in the hallway was chatting on her cellphone, next to a pair of girls wearing hats. Everyone but the leggy blonde looked up when Sun approached.

"This is Kate," she said flippantly, abandoning her to lean against a pole and pull out her Blackberry. "She's new."

Kate was selfconsciously remembering the bulky, four-year-old cell phone somewhere in the bottom of her backpack, probably being crushed at the moment under the weight of two binders and a textbook.

"Hi Kate!" perked the sparkling brunette. "My name is Kristen, and this is Shannon [the leggy blonde] and Claire [goth girl], and then this is Jessica and Marie."

Finished with whatever she was checking on, Sun kicked her foot into Shannon's calf, so the blonde could lift her legs and let Sun sit on the bench beneath them. Kate tried her smile and wave to the girls she was just meeting, then swung her backpack around her shoulder so she could fish out her sack lunch.

"Awesome." Shannon drawled, clearly uninterested. She opened her eyes and squinted in Kate's direction. Although Kate didn't notice, she was obviously being scrutinized. "…Where are you from?"

"Uhm," Kate stalled, getting her PB&J from its plastic bag. "I guess you could say…Iowa?"

"What does that mean?" one of the hatted girls asked.

"My dad's military, so we uh, move around…a lot." Kate shoved the sandwich in her mouth, taking a big bite. She hadn't realized how hungry she was.

Shannon leaned upwards a little. "Oh my god, _Sun_, do you remember those guys from last year? Those…I dunno, army guys?"

"Marines, dummy."

"Yeah whatever. They were totally hot."

"Oh my god, yes!" Kristen piped in. "Brad, and Owen? They were _so. cute._ Maybe we should call them! Oh my god do you remember their _eyes_? So cute. I wonder if they're dead."

Kate was trying not to frown, but her eyebrows were bunching together of their own accord.

"How—" she coughed, some sort of seed tripping down her throat. "How do you guys, uh…how do you guys know each other?"

Shannon settled her head back into Claire's lap and closed her eyes. "Water polo," she sighed. "We're all on the same team. Kristen's our goalie—" Kristen shot her hand up half-way like she wanted to answer the question or was trying to cheer for herself, "—and me and Sun are part of the front line. Oh, with Ana Lucia. Shit I just forgot that I haven't seen her today. Guys, have you seen her today? Where the hell is she?"

"She wasn't here yesterday either." It was the first time Claire had said anything, and Kate was caught off-guard. She wanted to believe that it was only because of Claire's Australian accent, which she wasn't expecting.

Kate took the opening of everyone pausing in collective thought. "Uh…what is…what is water polo?"

Shannon was immediately sitting up.

"You _don't_ know what water polo is."

Kate forgot to chew the last bite of her sandwich and shook her head. It was a hard bite to swallow.

"Water polo is _the__ hardest_ game in all of sports."

"It's easy," Kristen tried to moderate.

"It's _not_ easy," Shannon cut in. "Water polo is the most difficult sport you will ever play. Can you run?"

"Yes."

"Then you can't swim. It's like playing soccer in quicksand. You need to have the endurance to tread water for forty minutes, the intelligence to stage your play, and the sheer strength to throw a, a," she was trying to find the analogy, "a basketball, with one hand, into a five-foot net, that's guarded by the strongest member of your opponent's team."

Kate couldn't tell if she was put off or turned on.

"I uh…I was thinking of joining the swimming team."

"Psh," Sun dismisses, letting the sound represent how lesser she feels of the sport.

"Yeah, well," Shannon starts, assuming an air of authority as she starts to lay back down. "We've graduated."

Kristen's been wanting to jump in for awhile now. "Not only that, but the guys team we sometimes practice with? St. Ignatius? They are, without a doubt, the _hottest_ guys you will _ever_ meet."

Kate remembered yesterday afternoon, seeing the group of kids on the corner. And also seeing Shannon getting picked up in one of those sedan limousines with all-tinted windows.

"Well, no pressure, but we're always looking for alternates," a girl in a hat suggested. Did they switch hats? She was getting them confused.

"Yeah, you should come try out sometime," the other said, though Kate got the impression that she didn't mean it at all.

A short pause filled the conversation. Shannon pulled out a pink rhinestone-encrusted cell phone and started madly typing on the swivel-out keypad.

"What classes do you have?" Sun asked.

Kate started listing them off. "Oh, and then I got switched to something new today. Some sort of…Biology class? With a Shep-hard guy?" She pronounced the two halves independently, because it sounded like a joke she'd wanted to make last night with her dad before realizing neither of them would laugh at it.

Kristen's mouth _dropped. open_.

"Nah uh. Nah uh! You got Marc **and** Jack!" It was phrased almost like a question, and Kate nodded tentatively. _Why are you yelling?_

And while Kate watched, all the girls in front of her shared eye contact. They grinned, a few giggled, like they were sharing some sort of secret they weren't ready to impart yet.

"Those guys are really hot," Shannon explained, her lips almost catlike in the way they curved. "Jack _Shephard_ also happens to be the water polo coach. Maybe you'll be convinced to try out by the end of the day…"

Claire rolled her eyes and looked away, and Kate almost didn't see her. In a quiet voice she whispered:

"Most girls are."

* * *

Sun had AP United States History with Marc "dreamboat" Silverman the same time as Kate, so they walked together. Kate tried to fill her in on what sort of history classes she'd had thus far, and was pleasantly surprised when Sun smiled a little at some of the transitions of subjects; like peanut farming to the Japanese porn industry.

"It's a little embarrassing when you start mixing up facts. I'm still 90% certain George Washington Carver owned a glow-in-the-dark sex doll."

They arrived early enough, and Sun put Kate in the seat next to her. It wouldn't have been her first choice, but Kate settled into her seat at the dead center, front of the room with relative comfort. As the other girls trickled in, Kate noticed that – unusually – the front half of the room filled up first, the last girls jumping into the doorway with hopeful expressions, immediately wiped off when they saw the only available seats in the far back corners.

Kate wasn't sure what to think about that. Either this was a popular class by teaching standards, or Mr. Silverman was some sort of Ken doll.

…He turned out to be more of a Ken doll.

He had wavy reddish brown hair which he swept back, a strong build and a fitted dress shirt. He had this air of… Kate couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about him was just off. She wouldn't realize until the end of the week that she didn't feel like she could trust him.

The class went smoothly. Kate was surprised she could answer some of the questions, but was put off by the smiles she received in return.

* * *

"That was weird," Kate concluded after class, walking with Sun down the hallway. Out of the corner of her eye Kate caught sight of a glimmer of a smile across her new friend's face. "What."

Sun just shakes her head and turns a corner, heading to whatever class she has next that's not with Kate. Kate's lips twist in disappointed confusion. Her head is in sort of a fog when she gets to English class with Mrs. Nadler, and doesn't realize until class has started that she's taken the seat next to Claire Littleton. It shakes her concentration completely for a minute, and during the class's discussion of _Othello_ she can't help but sneak glances at the raven-haired Aussi who seems to exude mystery.

While a perky brunette starts to read Iago's iconic soliloquy with gusto (Kate hadn't even noticed Kristen on the other side of the room), Kate impulsively scribbles a note on the back of a gas receipt.

_You're Claire, right?_

It's easy enough to slide over while Mrs. Nadler is arguing with Kristen over her impression of Iago's accent.

A few minutes go by. Kristen is now trying to stay standing while Mrs. Nadler is trying to force her performance to remain seated. …Claire still hasn't replied. Kate sneaks another glance. And then another.

Her face is so blank, so passive. Like she's not even in the room.

"Claire, can you please take over where Kristen left off?"

Claire's chin tipped up, and without missing a beat, she began to recite from memory.

"She must change for youth: when she is sated with his body,  
she will find the error of her choice: she must  
have change, she must: therefore put money in thy  
purse. If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a  
more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money  
thou canst: if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt  
an erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian not  
too hard for my wits and all the tribe of hell, thou  
shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of  
drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek  
thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy than  
to be drowned and go without her."

Mrs. Nadler sent a veiled look towards Kristen, who was huffing indignantly. The class continued as if nothing had happened, but for the four minutes remaining in class, Kate could hardly take her eyes away from Claire. Why did it seem like no one else saw it?

The bell rang, and Kate started to put her backpack together.

"You have Shephard next, right?"

Kate's spiral notebook completely slipped from her fingers, so surprised was she to hear the Australian's voice.

"Uh—" she tried. She paused, kneeling on the floor, her books and notebook halfway into the faded blue sack. "Uh. Yeah." She tried to smile, expressing this sort of floodgate of relief. For the life of her, Kate couldn't understand why she felt so drawn to this small, gothic girl.

They walked to AP biology in silence. When they could see the door, Claire spoke.

"Mr. Shephard is a stickler for assigned seats. Sorry." Kate couldn't help but feel a little abandoned when Claire headed straight for a mid-room seat. She paused near the door, examining the entirely empty last row. She could see Sun, and Shannon, already seated at random around the room. She thought she recognized one of the girls in a hat, too.

The bell rang. A door at the back of the room opened, drawing Kate's attention.

Was this the cause of all those giggles? Kate had to swallow her initial reaction.

She hadn't really thought teacher's came in "attractive" until a few hours ago. But the man who came from back and steadfastly was heading toward the front – he was… Well, he couldn't be a teacher. Sure, he wasn't wearing the uniform - a button down shirt and a tie, slacks… There was a coat hanging by the door…I mean, he was _male_, after all, in an all-female student body, and was also obviously hovering around thirty years old… But he was _cute_.

_Really_ cute.

"Anywhere, Miss Austen," he said as he passed her. It startled her, and it was with jerky movements that she took the seat farthest from the door.

When she was sitting she realized that Sun and Shannon were looking at her, grinning like cats with canaries behind their teeth. Suddenly annoyed, Kate mouthed a mock-innocent _What?_ and tried to focus on the front of the room.

Mr. Shephard launched immediately into his lecture, using a very simplistic powerpoint and writing tablet to guide the class. It was knowledge after knowledge, and halfway through Kate realized she honestly had to give up. She couldn't follow anything, so she spent the second half pretending to write notes while she scoured the first chapter of the text book. Towards the end she became engrossed, and it surprised her when the bell rang for the end of the school day.

"Miss Austen." It carries across the room, short and loud, and makes her think of her father.

_Sick_. Her shoulders were tense so she made them slump, and she turned back towards him with her head bowed a little bit.

"Yes?" she asked, in all senses polite.

Then there's this weird moment. He's staring into her eyes, and she can feel it. And the moment's taking longer than it's supposed to, and she's feeling uncomfortable, and suddenly all she wants is to hear him say something else instead. Something that would break the surface of whatever's beneath the water in her throat.

"Mr. Shephard?"

"I need you to stay a moment."

It came so quickly on the heels of her words that she's sure he'd been trying to say it for awhile. Her cheek puckered with a small, confused frown. Was she getting kicked out of the smart kids' class?

Kate shoots a glance towards the door, watching everyone else file out. Nearly everyone turned back to look at her, trying to be furtive as they looked up from textbooks that took them too long to put away.

She felt herself zoning out, as her mind tried to catch up with itself. It hadn't come full circle by the time Mr. Shephard was calling her name again.

"Miss Austen, can you come over here please?"

Her head snapped back towards him instantly, but it took her feet a half second to follow behind.

She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say first. "Is something…wrong?"

He was staring at her again, into her eyes, and again she felt like prey caught by its predator. She felt antsy, shifting her weight to her other foot.

"I'm sure you're aware of the…nature, of my reputation here."

Kate could feel her face contort a little, confused. Mr. Shephard pulled his lips together. "Look," he dropped. "I know that certain girls…well, they manage to get into this class under false pretenses." Kate frowned, a little unsure but not feeling optimistic. "I just want you to know that I won't be lenient. You got yourself into this class, and there will be no hand holding. I expect you to do all your work from this point out, and I'm not shy of flunking students just because they didn't realize what they were getting into."

Kate realized her mouth had slipped open a fraction. Her eyes were wide, and she squeezed the straps of her backpack unconsciously.

"Sir, I really wa—"

"Hey," he cut her off. "I really don't need to hear it. You just need to know how this class operates. If you don't think you can handle it, you have about a week to find something else."

Kate was stunned, and angry to realize that there were tears beginning to form at the corner of her eyes.

"I understand."

Mr. Shephard tried for a fleeting second to look sympathetic, then resolutely turned towards his computer, doing something with the handwritten notes he'd made during the class.

"Uhm…Mr. Shephard?"

These words seem to just be coming out of her mouth. She wasn't sure where they were coming from, but coming they were.

Mr. Shephard turned slowly in his chair. The way he was leaning back a little gave Kate the impression that he was caught a little off-guard.

"I was wondering when the next tryout was, for the water polo team."

His eyes flicked; narrowed a bit, like he wasn't sure who she was.

* * *

Claire was standing next to the door when Kate flew past her, unseeing. She'd heard the whole conversation inside, knew that Kate was now thinking of joining the team.

That was fine by Claire. It wasn't anything new. She heard Jack's fingers clacking on his computer keyboard and felt comfortable rounding the corner. His back was turned.

"Can you give me a ride?" she asked. In her mind she remembered saying goodbye to Shannon and Sun, thinking that being in the black leather interior of their towncar was the last place in the world she ever wanted to be. Nor did she want to head over to St. Ignatius and run the risk of running into…anyone.

Jack didn't turn around. Claire sort of hated being the only Australian in school. "I can't; I rode my bike today."

Claire bit her lip and stared listlessly out of the window. _Okay then…_

"Where's dad? Your mom?"

"Chicago."

"Ah."

Claire shifted her weight. "You know? It's okay. I'll just take a cab. I don't know what I was thinking. I'll call Shannon."

Jack turned around and gave her one of his debilitating stares; one of those that really reminded her that this 'brother' was so intensely foreign to her. They straddled such a strange relationship. Jack was looking at her like she was a frustrating child, but he fished out his wallet and grabbed a twenty dollar bill. He held it up to his face so she knew what it was, then put it down on the counter in front of him. Somehow satisfied, he turned around in his chair and resumed his work.

Claire felt angry tears swell up in her eyes. There was half a minute of an awkward pause, which she spent hating him as much as humanly possible. With heavy steps she stomped across the room and grabbed the money, storming out just as quickly.

Why was she so miserable? It felt like she put all of it on herself sometimes – like she was the one _creating_ all this melancholy. But there seemed to be too many factors which expedited the process. And it was easy to misplace all of that into a generic hatred of America, and everything in it.

They'd been happy in Sydney, as just two of them. And then her mom had to go and get sick, and then her father had shown up…the one she had just assumed was dead, after sixteen years of silence. She often wished, with a sort of vague seriousness, that he had been. That she hadn't found him re-proposing to her mother in that private suite at the Sydney Hospital. That she didn't suddenly have everything change.

"Hey, do you need a ride?"

The words met her, like they were obviously said to no one else. Claire looked up, knowing that her eyeliner was at least a little smudged.

It was the new girl. She was halfway into her truck, one foot in the cab and the other on the pavement.

Kate…that was her name. She'd been circling around her and her friends all day. She seemed…okay. Claire examined the truck. It wasn't so old, maybe five years old…silver. Pretty average.

...And then she remembered Thomas…and how he had one exactly like it.

"Yeah, okay."

The ride was bumpy, and besides giving directions, Claire didn't offer any conversation. She was too busy remembering him, and how much she loved him. Traffic was on the heavier side of normal, and the drive took a little more than twenty minutes. When her building came into view, and Claire knew the ride was going to end…

"How would you feel about driving me home every day?" she asked, staring out the windshield, looking in every sense bored. "Twenty dollars a day?"

She saw Kate make a cough/choking motion. It was so easy to read her. "Uh…" she started, and Clair wondered if she heard an accent. "Yeah, sure."

They had just pulled up to the loading zone, and a guy in a carnivalesque uniform was already opening Claire's door. "Wonderful."

She hopped out, and headed straight inside. Frank knew by now not to try and engage her in conversation, so she made it clear to the elevators without hearing a voice within five feet of her. Once the doors closed, she let the tears fall.

_Oh Thomas._

Surely she couldn't have invented the promises of a long-distance relationship, and eternal love. Or the girl he'd left her for.

Surely all that must be true.


	3. cuts the human heart with tears

**Still Light Follows the Same Rules I Do  
By:** AliLamba**  
Notes:** HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRETTYBUTT. Pervs uniiiite.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE: cuts the human heart with tears

Claire's food was in front of her. It was sitting there on a porcelain plate, painstakingly prepared by…whateverhernamewas. There was a garnish of something red, orange and green at the corner of her meal. There was a small cup of espresso next to her crystal glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

And she wouldn't touch any of it.

Claire's pale blue eyes were reflecting too much light, and her father – had he looked up from his own breakfast – would have been able to identify the reflection as tears.

She couldn't think of something good enough to say to him. Swear words came to mind over and over again, but all she could think about was how she felt. She felt like he'd _claimed_ every aspect of her life, and if she even _inhaled_ any part of him she'd be succumbing.

"I hate you."

It came as such a whisper, that Claire was almost surprised it had come out.

Her father cleared his throat with a short cough and flipped to a different page of The Wall Street Journal. He said nothing. There were a few seconds of strained silence. Claire was glaring at his face so hard she almost missed the quick glance he gave to something besides his reading material, before he stood and left the room. Claire had wanted to be the first to go.

She hated feeling so stuck-up, but it was like someone prostrating themselves, the way he gifted her. Giving her _fresh-squeezed orange juice_ as some sort of fucking substitute for saying one word to her.

Her hip vibrated, and with shaking, angry fingers she pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open. A text, from _him._

_Hey, I found your number, so now you'll have to talk to me!_

The tone was so fucking optimistic, so fucking innocent, and she hated him all the more. With an angry scream she hurled her phone as hard as she could at the wall. Pieces of broken plastic were still raining to the floor when she walked out the door.

* * *

The new girl, Kate…she wasn't sure how she felt about her yet. It would be easy to hate her; the girl was gorgeous, all limbs, length and full, pouty lips. But the girl seemed so lost, so distended from reality. There seemed to be no substance to her at all.

It was better to observe.

And then she'd seen that damn truck. And then she'd sat in that damn truck. Thomas always seemed to be hovering around her consciousness. A therapist would say she was clinging to the fantasy, in all her unwillingness to adapt to her new life. But his name always seemed at the tip of her tongue, and his face was always on the fringes of her thoughts. She felt like she could smell him when she settled into that car seat. It was too much and not enough at the same time.

It seemed like she'd be getting to know the new girl, after all.

* * *

Kate slowly slid the small leaf of paper from underneath her third-period textbook.

_Each period is composed of eight minutes. There are four periods in each game. Ladies water polo contains four six minute periods, while colored and mixed water polo allows for four ten-minute periods—_

Kate groaned and slid the sheet back below her book. Of course the library only had a sixty-year-old guidebook to water polo._ Internet_, she decided, leaning back in her chair. She wanted to close her eyes, but was too aware of her surroundings, and the fact that Dr. Arzt glared hawkishly around the room each time he finished a page of his speech. He'd already yelled at Kristen for doodling little hearts all over her page, then showed her printing of _Mrs. Sayid Jarrah_ to the whole class. Kate had assumed that must be some kind of pop star.

* * *

The defrosted waffle was dangling from her lips as Kate zipped around the house. Her backpack was half-full, and she couldn't shake the feeling she was forgetting something. With one hand she grabbed her thermos from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. Ethics quiz! _Shit_. She'd spent literally all night reading chapters three to five of her Biology book for a test that was still a week away.

Well, she could probably bullshit half of it, Kate thought as she headed out the door and to her truck. And look over her notes during French or math…

"Kate!"

She craned her neck as her feet ground to a halt. She didn't even know that Sam was _home_.

But the way he was standing in the doorway made her stop. He was holding his hat like somebody died.

"I uh," he started, then paused to shift his weight. "I…uh… Uh, are you going to be home tonight?"

Kate nodded, her eyebrows knit together. Then her dad's words sunk in. As she prepared to speak, she let the waffle slip from her lips into her waiting hand.

"I have try-outs tonight, so I'll be home a little late."

* * *

Sun hadn't offered much of a response when Kate had told her she had to spend the lunch period in the library. Kate was starting to simply accept that she might never be able to read her new friend.

A quick scan of Wikipedia told her three things.

One, she'd never survive a game of water polo.

Two, water polo players had really bulky shoulders.

And three, girls were _awful_.

Every game _started_ with an examination of player's _fingernails?_ Apparently it was common practice to rip at each other's swimsuits below the water, and try to scratch or dunk your opponents when the ref wasn't looking. They had to implement a fingernail check because people were starting to cut their nails into points. And you wanted to wear a zip-up suit because girls would grab the straps of a normal bathing suit to try and pin you down below the water.

_Shit_.

* * *

Kate's breath was desperate to stay out of her lungs.

Each attempt to reign air back in emphasized how much everything on the inside burned. Her skin was trying to tell her that she wasn't on fire, but freezing, the flesh pebbled with goose bumps and beads of icy water.

Her eyes dismissed all feeling, darting around the pool in front of her to follow the hard, yellow ball. Kate knew first-hand how just hard that ball was, and her thigh throbbed painfully in recalled memory. Her feet were lightly bouncing against the wet, cement floor, desperate to be kicking at the water again even though every muscle felt limp.

A whistle called, its sharp bleat making her jump.

"_Austen, in!_"

Without thinking she threw herself into the water. She had fifteen seconds to grab the ball and make a shot at Kristen. Shannon was grinning at her tauntingly, the ball right in front of her nose.

You weren't allowed to grab the ball with more than one hand, unless you were the goalie. If you wanted to move the ball you could either try to swim with it in one hand, or push it along in front of you, trying to use your cycling arms and streamline to keep the other girls away. It had looked easy enough, until number 12 put her knee on Claire's back, and then swiped the ball from out of her reach while Claire was choking on water.

Shannon was still grinning at Kate when she picked up the ball in one hand, swiveling it back and forth behind her head while she got the best grip. Kate found space right in front of her, presenting a challenge as she treaded water, arms just below the surface in case she had to lunge upwards.

"Eight seconds," Shannon grunted, and she pulled her hand back the infinitesimal amount that let Kate know exactly what she was about to do.

She wasn't sure where she got the power, but Kate pushed herself out of the water. She could feel fresh air all along her spine. Her arm thrust upwards, in the general direction of the ball's trajectory.

Her fingertips brushed the hard rubber, right before she felt gravity pulling her back down.

She'd tipped it up into the air, and it was now floating somewhere above their heads. Kate tried to swivel and see where it was going, but all she could see was white water.

The whistle bleated again, and when things settled, Kate could see Kristen holding the ball. She looked around to see if anyone was looking at her, but they were all looking towards the edge of the pool.

She was still getting used to seeing him. At the end of the first week she was accustomed to the influx of attractive professionals at the school, especially after passing Assistant Dean Keamy in the halls a few days ago. Seeing Mr. Shephard and Mr. Silverman had been unnerving, but she was lucky enough to find the latter a little skeezy, while the former had her so busy trying to keep up with his lesson plan that she didn't have time to really…examine.

And now it was the second week. So when Jack Shephard walked towards the pool still wearing his dress shirt and slacks, with a whistle dangling from his lips, she didn't have to give him much thought.

She could see now that try-outs were over, that there were flecks of wetness on his clothes, from little sprays of water. It made the white fabric of his shirt stick to his chest in tiny spots.

"If you're in the pool," he started, addressing the group without looking at them, "then you made the team. Congratulations."

If she expected him to stick around after, giving instructions or advice, she was mistaken.

Kate let the water in her mouth spill out into the pool. For some reason she wasn't that excited to have made it. She glanced, a little self-consciously, at the row of girls sitting on the bleachers who would now be the secondary team. There was one, looking pissed, with a sleek black swimsuit, and some sort of mesh brace on her elbows. Kate had been pretty sure that girl was going to make it. The girl looked pissed.

In the water were all the girls she'd known from lunchtime, plus a small looking freshman and a few others. A look at the headgear the freshman wore over her swim cap let Kate know the little one was number 12.

Kate grinned and laughed softly, a little impressed. She'd seen Number 12 nearly dunk Sun completely underwater.

"_Okay bitches._"

Kate looked towards the voice, her neck jerking under the impression she was done for the day. Shannon was standing at the end of the pool, water cascading down her form.

"_Laps. Now._"

At first, she wasn't sure what to do, especially when there was a massive _groan_ from most of the heads floating around the pool. But reluctantly, they all started into a slow crawl stroke, heading towards the opposite end of the pool from their presumed captain.

Kate was sort of glad for the practice. She felt _exhausted_, sure, and as her limbs started into the familiar movements, she felt all her muscles burn uncomfortably.

If she was honest with herself, she was surprised.

Surprised wasn't the right word. She felt bewildered.

The first time she had gotten into the water, immediately frozen with shock at how _cold_ it was—she'd been steamrolled. Literally, a girl had swam directly over her, pushing Kate's head underwater. Most of it had gone up her nose. Over the next ten minutes spent in the pool, Kate had felt firsthand how little of an exaggeration Shannon had offered when she'd explained the sport.

She thought she touched the ball once. And then she was called out, and then back in, and then back out again. They were playing a mock-version of a game Kate didn't know how to play. She just tried to stay afloat.

One by one her new teammates left the pool, but Kate kept swimming. And instead of getting slower, her arms started to pump faster. Her feet, once feeling like they were moving through sand, were now pushing through oil, and she remembers the way the side of her palm should cut through the water, and then scoop it back. Her body is a well-built machine. The strokes are routine, satisfaction gleaned from perfect execution.

_What are you doing._

Kate stops mid-stroke. Her head breaks the surface of the water, and panting heavily, she scans the surrounding area.

No one's there.

There's a window in the back, and through it she can see how dark the sky has become, in contrast to how light it was after seventh period.

Slowly, Kate swims to the edge of the pool and hoists herself out. Water is sliding down her body, and it flicks all over the floor when she reaches up to rip off her cap. Her hair is now damp in certain areas, but surprisingly dry. She had forgotten about how strange that felt. Her towel is on the bleachers, and she uses it to smother her face for a moment. Her body is _exhausted_. Already her muscles are starting to twitch with too much exerted effort. She's about to dab the rest of her skin dry, but instead she decides to take a shower before she goes home.

Her feet are touching that cold, clammy concrete…when it happens.

There's suddenly a body up against her.

It's not a crash, and the contact isn't rough, but instead it's infused with the shared knowledge that both parties realized what was going to happen a split moment before it did, and their limbs and pieces slid into place.

His (_his?_) big hands grab her upper arms to steady them both, and her left foot falters when it gives out and she lurches awkwardly. Her skin is wet and his is warm, and when they touch it feels uncomfortable and wonderful.

Kate was afraid to look up. A part of her mind had already concluded who it would be. So instead she bit her lip and screwed her eyes shut, in part against the impact, and in part because there was barely so much as saran wrap between her chest…and the chest of Jack Shephard.

She'd had male coaches before. Usually kids who had graduated only a year or two before the girls they were coaching, who had been surprised that taking one or two classes at the local community college could take up so little time. Being so close in age guaranteed that they'd likely dated or at least fucked a few of the girls, or at the very least seen them drunk and naked in some absentee-parent's basement or kidney-shaped swimming pool. The boundaries between high school student and high school graduate – between student and coach – ran very thin. Kate had never stuck around long enough to be counted among the incest.

But now she was closer than she'd ever wanted to be. Everything was taking too long. The breaths of air tickling the top of her head, the twitches of his fingers as they gripped her arms. The shallow rises of his chest that brushed against her nipples. His thighs sliding against hers.

Kate's eyes widened slowly. For a half second she felt terrified.

Instinct made her leap a half-step backwards at the same time that Mr. Shephard pushed her away.

And what was that look on his face? After a faltering moment of indecision, Jack Shephard raised his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed slowly, his brow furrowed. She saw now that he was in tight, black, swimming shorts – the kind of speedo that ran down to mid-thigh. She was trying desperately to remind herself not to look, that she'd seen guy's junk exposed like that a million times before, but her eyes still caught a glimpse. And it was like someone poured ice water down her spine, the weird mix of feeling that erupted from that brief glance.

She saw Jack realize where she'd looked and suffer embarrassment, and adjust the towel he was holding to the middle of his body, so it hung down his center.

Kate's cheeks felt like they burned. She suddenly knew how tight her suit was. She knew how big her breasts were, and that she'd maintained her bikini line.

Her blood was dancing in her veins.

Ashamed, embarrassed, and no longer feeling anything like exhaustion, Kate didn't know where to settle. Her weight kept shifting, her gaze darting everywhere. Out of the corner of her eye she kept seeing Jack, trying to stare in one direct heated gaze at a spot on the floor. It was kind of hard to tell, but his hand was shaking where it was rubbing the back of his neck.

It had barely been five seconds, and Kate's body was just barely starting to align.

"I uh," Jack started. "I thought everyone had left."

Kate froze, her eyes catching something she only half-understood. Was he…blushing?

"Were you uh," he started again. "Were you going somewhere?"

Kate started herself. "Oh. Yeah." Her voice was warbling. She half-shrugged, apologetically, and explained. "Showers."

Jack closed his lips over his teeth, and gave her a look that said "_Right, got it. …Well? Go on then._" Her treacherous mind added:

"_Freak._"

Her feet took an awkward lurch, before the rest of her body caught up with her. She couldn't think where to look, what to do. Her limbs were shaking unapologetically now, and she questioned whether she could stand up long enough to shower. She threw herself into one anyway, turning the heat up as high as she could stand. It at least muddied the heat beneath her skin.

It was a dizzy sort of daze that got her out of the suit and into some clothes. She would have to find a way to afford a new one, now, as her five-year-old suit still had those hazardous straps she'd read about.

* * *

…She hadn't meant to. But she did.

Backpack dangling in one hand, hair still damp around her shoulders… Kate's feet took her to the locker room's back door.

It was amazing, how fast he could swim. Kate couldn't help but be in awe for a moment. Jack was sprinting from one end of the pool to the other in a surge of white water, thrashing the tranquility rather than working within it. The effect was intimidating and marvelous.

She wasn't sure how many laps she saw him swim, but she knew it had been fewer than four. But as fast as he was swimming he stopped, at the far end of the pool. His hands just stretched out of the water and found placement on the pool's edge, hoisting his shoulders out of the churning waves. Kate could see the muscles in his back all working together to heave his breath in and out of his lungs.

She couldn't much help that her eyes wandered over the entire expanse. Or that her lips sagged open in her distraction.

It was like Jack heard them part. His head turned in profile, to angle his glance backwards. Kate nearly jumped, and in less than thirty seconds she was half-way to her car.

She forced her mind to think about anything else on the way home. Really. Anything else.

By the time she was pulling her truck into the driveway, she could say that it had almost worked. It took until she was pulling her backpack off the passenger's seat to think to check her cell phone, and find the text from Claire saying she'd ridden home with Shannon and _c u 2mrw_.

But she had totally forgotten that Sam would be waiting for her.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, a few boxes of take-out littered around some official-looking papers with the American seal on them. When Kate walked in, looking confused, Sam took off his glasses and gestured to the extra seat at the table.

"I got Chinese. I uh, I hope that's okay—"

"Yeah dad," Kate sighed, sliding off her backpack and taking the seat, using her momentum to grab the closest carton. She'd gratefully inhaled a few mouthfuls of noodles before she remembered Sam wanted to talk to her about something.

"Didn't you—" Kate coughed on a noodle, so she took a moment to carefully chew and swallow. "Didn't you want to talk to me about something?"

She really looked at him now, and when her eyes looked up she saw her dad quietly smiling at her. It was that warm, reserved look she could count only seeing a handful of times before. His eyes were lost in memory, making her think he wasn't even aware of the curve in his lips.

Kate felt suddenly self-conscious, and it didn't take too much effort to put aside her dinner. Sam blinked, and his eyes opened wider. When he didn't say something, his mind obviously still working on something else, Kate gave an annoyed half-shrug and looked around the room. "Dad?" she asked.

"What? Oh—" He shook the memory out of his consciousness. "Oh. Forget about it." Whatever had just passed between them was obviously confusing them both. Sam stood up, and offered little explanation with his stilted movements. "I'll uh…I'll talk to you tomorrow."

* * *

Kate was eating the cold leftovers the next day at lunch.

Shannon was telling her exactly how gross she thought it was, by the wrinkling of her nose. Kate tried not to enjoy the food.

"Okay," the blonde finally said, tearing her gaze away from the offending box. "Okay," she said again, this time with mounting excitement. "Tomorrow night, after practice. My parent's place."

Sun groaned and rolled her eyes. "Don't you remember last time?"

Shannon shot her a dirty glance. "Yes," she spat. "But this time it will be different." Her shoulders rose a little, as she took on the air of extreme importance. "My brother's in town." Her lips were tight over her teeth.

Marie and Jess shared a silent, giddy glance. "You think he'll buy for us?" one of them said.

Shannon didn't have to respond; she just let her grin settle.

"Fuck…" Sun hissed.

"And." All eyes turned to Shannon. "They're coming."

Excited murmurs traveled amongst the group. Jaws were dropping as the girls affirmed _I know!_ to each other with animated glances.

Kate didn't want to break the enthusiasm with her questions, which Sun was astute enough to notice.

"The St. Ignatius boys," she explained. "The also have a water polo team, and the guys happen to be ridiculously hot."

_Oh_. Kate's eyebrows contorted as she looked into her box of Chinese broccoli and snow peas. She should have expected this at some point. She should probably feign excitement for her new friends' sake. But she couldn't feel more blasé about it. She realized she should be curious about who her friends were dating, or fucking, or were done dating or fucking. She let herself sigh internally. _Here we go again…_

Kate's nose wrinkled. She hated clichés.

* * *

The music was too loud. There were too many new faces. She had too many things on her mind.

Kate's head was swimming. It could've been from the cheap beer she'd been pounding. Or the shots of vodka that had come from a plastic gallon jug. Or the ridiculously expensive scotch they'd been mixing with cola.

She wanted to vomit. That felt like the only release. Stumbling through the hallways, Kate tried every knob until she found something that opened. Everything was too dark. She couldn't see where she was. There was a bed. Someone was in it. Kate backed into the hall, and tripped over her own feet.

The carpet felt nice. She rubbed her cheek into it, as her eyes drifted shut.

That was a mistake. Instead of the world spinning, her insides did.

Feeling the nausea claw up her throat, Kate threw herself into motion. Her shoulders lifted her like Frankenstein's monster, and she barged through the next door she saw.

It was a bathroom, but there was already a girl over the toilet.

So she emptied her stomach into the sink.

* * *

Kate's eyes woke up before her eyelids did. Everything beneath her skin felt like wet cement. Her throat released a muted groan. _Ugh_. She felt terrible. Her fingers twitched, and she felt carpet beneath her. She let her hand explore it, tracing through the fibers until she touched a cool, hard surface. Her eyes blinked open, and she realized she was in a bathroom. The lights overhead were still on – was time was it? Kate tilted her head to look above her, away from the door. There was a pair of bare feet in front of her. Kate craned her neck and leaned up.

It was Claire, curled around the base of the toilet. There was a towel serving as her blanket, and something (_ugh_) leftover on her cheek. Kate blinked, and shook her head to clear it. There was bile in the back of her throat, and her stomach was still churning. _Oh God_.

Resisting the urge to vomit and knowing there was nothing else to vomit up, Kate found a guest towel and doused it with water. She slid around Claire and lifted her head up, cleaning off her face so the girl wouldn't wake up _as_ miserable as she could have. The cold water woke her, and suddenly Kate was looking into that pair of large, blue eyes.

"Don't hurl," Kate joked.

Claire blinked dazedly. "Where am I?" she whispered. Kate sighed and looked around.

"Well. Bathroom, for starts. I'm willing to bet we're still at Shannon's, although I guess I wouldn't be surprised if we weren't." She accompanied her resignation with an appropriate eye-roll.

Claire started to sit up. "What time is it," she muttered, reaching up her hand to flush the pain away.

Kate shrugged and sighed again. "Dunno."

They both seemed to have the same idea, as they got up in unison and walked out into the hall, turning off the lights behind them. Kate found a crushed cigarette in her pocket, while Claire found gum in her black, tangled hair. For some reason it made Claire laugh.

They discovered together the passed-out bodies of Sun, Jess, and Marie, as well as a good-bye note from Kristen dated 8:15am and that the sun was well above the skyline. Claire started coffee while Kate started to wake their friends. Clutched between Jess and Marie's clenched hands was a pair of men's boxer briefs.

When Jess woke up first she began her day by snatching them back, and then dazedly wondering what they were. She kept them anyway.

Slowly the group amassed in the living room, mostly hunched over the stirring acids in their stomachs. They tried to calm these with massive chugs of water and sips of hot imported coffee, as their conversation turned amiable about the night previous. Kate mostly stayed out of the conversation, focusing instead on the wincing pain of her weakened body.

"Morning, bitches."

Shannon sauntered into the room wearing an open robe over her black bra and boy's boxer shorts. She got herself a cup of coffee over her friend's collective cat calls, then settled onto an ottoman.

"Okay," Sun finally said, quieting Jess and Marie. "That's enough. Who was it."

"No fucking idea," Shannon said proudly, dragging her front teeth over her lower lip with each enunciated syllable. "I went to bed, remember? And the lights were fucking off, and then this hot piece of ass comes waltzing into my room at three in the fucking morning." Her friend's eyes were collectively shaped like saucers.

"It was fucking _hot_."

Shannon said the world _fucking_ like she wasn't entirely comfortable with the word. It came out with two distinct syllables: _fuh_ and _keeng_. Kate was a little too absorbed by this observation, and couldn't hear her name being mentioned at first.

Sun was glancing at her over the hot cup of tea she had under her nose. Her eyes were veiled, but distinctly amused.

"Well, Kate?" Marie's voice dragged Kate's eyes away.

"Well what?"

Sun smirked, and took a long sip from her cup.

"Well—" Marie started again. "What did you and Sawyer do on the balcony last night?" Jess's eyes were gleaming like a starved animal's.

Kate felt like someone had shoved a brick wall into the side of her face. _What?_ She instantly started wracking her brain, first for any one who might be called _Sawyer_ and second for any knowledge of a balcony. She remembered carpet, she remembered Claire, and she remembered the cigarette in her pocket.

"Uh…" Kate fumbled, quailing under five sets of expectant glares. "We uh…smoked?"

Jess laughed, releasing her pent-up enthusiasm. "That's _it_?" she accused.

Kate put on the face of having no idea.

Now Shannon laughed. "_Ohmygod!_" she said, like it was all one word. "Ohmygod – you honestly don't remember?"

Kate shook her head and shrugged one shoulder.

"Sawyer," she blurted, like the word itself would jog Kate's memory. When Kate still looked confused, Shannon stared incredulously at the rest of the girls in the room. No one could believe it. Kate's increasingly-shy gaze traveled between the faces, seeing no one look back. Until she touched eyes with Claire, who was looking bored and disinterested.

"He's hot," she explained. "And he rarely shows enthusiasm for girls. He was all over you last night."

"Well," Jess tempered, "I mean, he has enthusiasm…he just doesn't, you know, apply himself. You were playing seriously hard to get last night, Kate."

Kate wished they would change the subject. When the other girls realized she wasn't going to participate in their gossip, the conversation drifted awkwardly into silence.

"You know what…" Shannon's drawl came out more like a purr, and Kate's attention was drawn at the same time her suspicion was raised. She briefly looked to Claire for guidance, but the girl was staring out the window.

"I think we could tell her."

There was a gleam in Shannon's eyes that frightened her. She felt apprehension rule her fingers as she clumsily put her coffee on the side table. "Tell me what," she tried, having to clear her throat first.

Sun's expression was the least fanatical. She was staring at Shannon as coolly as possible, some internal discussion going on inside her head. Eventually she shrugged. "If you're sure."

A grin exposed each one of Shannon's teeth. "Okay, Kate."

There was a little ball of nerves at the base of Kate's throat, hovering right beside her heart.

"So…it's not so much a coincidence that we're all friends. We were all sort of…recruited."

Kate used the pause in Shannon's speech to pivot her head, seeing the faces of the rest of the girls (including Claire) now looking at the one speaking. Shannon pulled the belt of her robe into her hands, stretching the piece of fabric as she glided one hand to the tip.

"Recruited for…water polo, you mean?" Kate's voice was a little strained.

Shannon shook her head. "You could say that's sort of a side effect. But no. We were all recruited, because we're all Teacher's Pets."

Kate felt the laugh erupting from her throat before she could register it would be inappropriate to release it. What resulted was a sort of half-choke, half-cough, and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She paused to take a sip of her cooling coffee.

"Excuse me?"

She could tell Shannon was a little perturbed. This was obviously not the sort of reaction she was used to. "Teacher's Pets," she reiterated, and again Kate tried not to laugh. "Meaning each of us has slept with a member of faculty."

All enthusiasm died in Kate's throat. _Oh God no_. Kate looked around the room again, now with a completely different set of eyes. They couldn't be serious.

…_No way_.

This was worse than what she had been expecting. So much worse. Before all the girls she'd met were engaged in debauchery, sure, but they'd all had limits. For some reason elicit drugs and alcohol suddenly felt like less of a crime, felt almost tame. This was…this was _sick._

_Sun?_ Who had Sun slept with! And Jess, Marie—Kristen…_Claire?_

Kate swung her gaze towards the Australian, whose face she'd cleaned half an hour ago.

Claire's face was passive and cold. The other girls were exhibiting some sense of merriment and recalled pleasure. They all seemed eager to tell their story, and Kate wanted desperately to stop them. She didn't need to hear it.

"I uh—" Clumsily she rose to her feet. "I have to go."

* * *

The drive home had never taken so much time. Whether it was pulling to the side of the road to dry heave behind a dumpster, or being so consumed with thought that she missed her turns completely, it was nearly four in the afternoon by the time Kate pulled up to the house she shared with her dad.

If she was honest she could admit that two days ago she wouldn't feel such disgust. That two days ago the idea of such crossed boundaries would be distant, foreign and remote to her, easily encapsulated by over-active fantasy. But after what she'd experienced with Jack by the pool she felt herself infected with the same sickness, because she could at least have the maturity to identify one of the strains of thought that crossed through her mind when their limbs were tangled and they were so mostly nude. She would be in a convent to be blind to what sort of feelings that situation would stir up. Her body had instigated an impulse then purely motivated by teenage hormones, and Kate had been trying to swallow the bitter pill of it for more than two days.

God she felt rancid. Her skin was clammy, her mind disoriented and fuzzy, and the tangled steps she took to the front door felt sure to be noticed.

Sam was sitting in the living room. Or he had been, right before Kate opened the front door. The strength of his standing posture told her he'd just jumped upright, and the rocking chair behind him told her from where he'd come from. There was an unopened newspaper by his heel. So he'd been there all day.

"Where were you," he blurted, his voice trying to hide the timid note that escaped. It was identifying that note which motivated Kate to lie.

"Sleepover, with the girls from my team. We uh," she offered a tight grin. "We watched romcoms from the eighties until three in the morning."

Something in Sam's gaze weakened, as if he were only too relieved to believe her. There was something of a strained pause, as Kate internally wondered if there was something else to be said before she could escape to her room and collapse.

Sam must've seen her looking towards the stairs, because he cleared his throat authoritatively. "Uh," he started, trying too hard. "Uh, sit down Katie."

Kate frowned. This was a routine she knew too well to be surprised. But it was coming a little soon.

When Kate had taken the far seat on the couch, Sam sat back into the chair behind him. He fumbled for another few second, nudging the newspaper on the floor with the toe of his boot while he looked for the right words.

"I uh—" he tried, "I…well…you should know, Katie, that I've been transferred again."

Nothing changed in Kate's emotions. It was as much as she expected. "Oh yeah?" she said, her voice a little hoarse. "When do we leave?"

"That's what I want to talk to you about."

Confusion clouded Kate's mind.

"I—I promised you something, when we came to San Francisco." He tried to look at her earnestly, trying to make her understand. "I promised that I wouldn't move you again." His expression melted a little. "God, Katie, I've lost track of how many transcripts you've got locked away in your desk—"

"Sixteen." She blurted the word unintentionally, and she dragged her gaze from the floor to her dad's face to apologize and ask him to continue.

"Sixteen," he affirmed. "And…and Katie, I just—I've just got to keep my promise. I have to."

"But we're leaving," Kate countered, not sure if her nausea was now motivated by apprehension or last night.

"No," Sam sighed, and his gaze was tenderly patronizing. "We're not."

Kate's head was reeling. She didn't understand, and all she wanted was to just lie down and sleep for the rest of her life. She wanted to just tell everything in her life to shut the fuck up and _slow down_ for just one _fucking minute…_

"Because you're staying with your mom."

* * *

**Note:** Thanks so much for reading, and leave a note if you can.


	4. rise like lions after a slumber in

**Still Light Follows the Same Rules I Do  
**By: AliLamba  
Notes: This chapter contains flashbacks. And Arrested Development references. Okay just one but it's now my goal to do more. Also I meant to do more with this chapter, but instead I cut it in half with the feeling that this fic will be longer than I am able to edit myself. Blrgh. I'll do that next chapter. Yeah. Also, what is proper use of tense? I dun haz it. Nor...will I...likely get it back. EES ARTEESTUC, mmk.

CHAPTER FOUR: rise like lions after a slumber in

* * *

Kate's brain is crippled with headaches. She won't call them migraines, because there's nothing remotely menstrual or medical about them. But the weight of her life and her surroundings beats upon her head like she's a living game of fucking cricket and she just can't make it stop.

Her mom.

That's one thing she has to consciously subtract from every thought that comes into her mind. She hadn't seen her in almost four years, hadn't lived with her in nearly ten. And while it's easy to avoid reliving the _why_, its effect seems to imbue all her thoughts with its muddy color.

It took her less than an hour to realize one inalienable truth: she can't go back. It would be suicide.

* * *

The first week of this knowledge passes in a blur. She's consumed by doubt and the ridiculous hope that Sam or the U.S. government could change their mind. By Wednesday Claire had the courage to ask if something was wrong. Feeling that it was far too private, Kate shook her off with a smile and turned on the radio.

There was a biology test on Friday. She could at least consume herself with that. For two nights Sam would make his rounds of their house, and pause in the doorway to his daughter's room. Kate was blind to him, and the regretful look etched on his face. She was pored over her textbook, her notes from class, putting pieces together and memorizing the facts she wished were more self-evident in her haze of concentration.

Water polo practices run three times a week, for two hours after school. It would start going up to everyday, with added morning practice once the regular season drew closer. The first game would be in late-November, and even though it doesn't matter Kate still thinks of it like it does.

* * *

There were so many nerves alight in Kate's body for the final five minutes of her last class of the week that she couldn't seem to make all her limbs sit still. If she could control her legs from tapping against the linoleum floor she couldn't keep her head from swiveling, surveying the rest of the room.

The test had been crushingly difficult. There were a few questions Kate was making educated guesses at, which was frustrating for someone who had felt so prepared.

_Describe plasmid modification?_

That had caused a little panic. She could _almost_ recall a small square on a page two chapters ahead of the test material that _barely_ mentioned it.

Her eyes shot to the clock. Ninety-four seconds to go. _Ugh_. Kate really needed to leave. She needed to sprint to the locker room and rip off her clothes, and swim as hard and fast as she could until every frayed nerve was obliterated.

Sun was also done, but her cool gaze was fixed on the front wall. Kristen was still fanatically scribbling all over the page. Marie looked a little more nonchalant, her head bowed over the test like she was reading the same sentence for the sixth time. And Claire… Kate had to crane her neck a little to make sure…but it looked like Claire's test was completely blank of the girl's writing.

Kate settled back into her seat, a twisted frown across her forehead. Claire, undoubtedly…well, she was someone Kate felt like she needed to protect, or something. There was an impulse she felt towards the petit Australian that she hadn't quiet worked out yet. But there were times, like now, where Kate felt an undeniable pull to do something.

* * *

Kristen was practically salivating to say something, after the bell had rung. She completely cornered Kate and Sun after the Asian beauty had strolled to Kate's desk at the back of the room. Kate was still at the stage where she was feigning confidence when it came to looking her friends in the eye. The conversation they'd had barely a week ago was still fresh in her mind, particularly when it came to Kristen, Claire, and Sun.

"_Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod_," she chanted, hands cradling all the prep material she'd had to shove under her seat two seconds before the test began. "That was – _thehardest_ – test I have taken in my entire life!" The frantic note in her voice clashed with how gravely her eyes were set. Kate fought the urge to laugh, and had to turn away under the pretense of finishing her packing up.

There was no reason she should have caught it. But as her eyes were sweeping around the room, she caught sight of Jack Shephard, and the tiny smirk he was wearing while pushing some papers on his desk. And she had the impression he'd overheard her friend.

But moreover…she'd not yet seen him smile.

Kate tried really hard not to look again. She forced herself not to, as she turned back toward the little group loitering around her desk. Sun was already annoyed with the bubbly brunette. She used Kate's readiness as an excuse to break the current conversation. Kate realized she had missed the last few exchanges.

"What's with you?"

Sun's cool voice filtered through her ears when they were out in the hall, and Kate's head jerked a bit too much in response. "What?" she asked back, trying to feign innocence.

Sun's sculpted eyebrow quirked, as she gave Kate's face a closer look. Kate tried to look dumb, and in a matter of seconds Sun had given up.

"Nevermind."

"_Bitches—_"

Kate didn't need to turn to know who was speaking. A part of her was already tired of Shannon's favored method of introduction. Honestly. No one said hello anymore?

The blonde was practically bouncing on her heels in her attempt to meet up with them. Jessica was trying desperately to keep her arm entwined with her taller friend's.

"Shannon, you would not _believe_ the test we just had. _Ohmygod_, hardest of my _life!_"

"Kristen, I don't give a fuck. Shut up already."

A frown squished Kristen's features together. Kate saw Sun smirk out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you completely _excited_ for tonight? I couldn't even _think_ in Juliet's class. Oh my god you guys this is going to be the best night of our live—"

"Wait. What?"

Shannon had almost reached her breaking point. She was nearly fanatical with enthusiasm, and she kept getting interrupted. "Sorry," Kate tried to temper. "Sorry, but…what's tonight?"

Shannon's blazing eyes cornered Kate, as her eyebrow twitched a little in confusion. "What do you mean, what's tonight."

Kate shrunk back a little, as she realized everyone in the corridor was looking at her.

"Um," she tried. "Um, I mean…what's…tonight." It sounded lame even in Kate's ears.

"Kate," Jessica started, disbelief tainting her tone. "Kate, we've been talking about this party for over a week."

There was a party tonight? Confusion was still clouding Kate's expression.

"Oh my god, she honestly has no idea." Shannon attempted to laugh. "_Ohmygod!_" she cried. "Kate! It's Halloween!"

That took her a little by surprise. Today was October 31st, day of the test, last day before the month of November. Surely it couldn't be…Halloween…

Oh.

"Oh."

Shannon now _did_ manage to laugh.

"Kate, we've literally been talking about this _all week!_"

"Yeah," explained Sun. "First Shannon was going to be Barbie, then a boy, then a football player, then a boy football player, then a sexy mouse, then an M&M, and now she's decided to be a pirate."

"We're _all_ being pirates," Shannon amended.

"I still think we should be Spice Girls," Kristen insisted.

"Count us, Kristen," Shannon said, her voice all but patronizing in having to go through this _one more time_. "There are more than five. Unless you want to be their skeezy manager or something, it's not going to happen."

* * *

Kate couldn't remember ever being so anxious to get into a pool. Her mind had started pounding again, clashing with the racetrack pace her mind was thinking in, these whirlwinds of thoughts spinning around and around in her head like marbles thrown into the gutter.

She kept shifting her weight from foot to foot, using her breath to calm her nerves. Her swim cap was too tight. It was too tight. The girls were still in the locker room. Kate dove into the water. She started to swim. She had no idea how many laps she did before she felt a hand at the top of her head.

When you're swimming, you're by yourself. There's no one but you and the water. Feeling another human body is not part of the game plan.

Kate jerked her head up, and her angry eyes stared into the eyes of Jack Shephard. His face was barely a foot away, where he was kneeling at the edge of the pool. His dress shirt was speckled with drops of water that she had made. He was close. She could barely hear him she was panting so hard.

He was looking at her, like he was examining her.

"What?" she asked, almost a whisper, the effort to breathe more prevalent than her demand.

"Calm down."

…_Calm down?_ …Wait, excuse me? What the fuck did he know about _calm down!_ Kate turned to the opposite end of the pool, where her teammates were jumping into the water and starting their own warm up laps.

Kate checked that her cap was still in place. She turned back to Jack, and found him still staring at her. His eyebrows were quirked, like he was trying to hide some genuine concern.

"Just…chill out, okay?"

Kate felt a cool breath go down her throat and expand in her lungs. She pushed lightly off the wall, and started back into a crawl stroke, being careful not to swim over one of her teammates, should they be using the same lane.

She didn't realize for awhile that she could still feel his hand where it had touched her.

Her mind was slowly becoming…normal. Her thoughts weren't racing anywhere, because you know, _it would all work out_. She could work it out later, as it came. She would. There was nothing to worry about. Focus on the moment. When Jack's whistle called his team into a scrimmage, she actually felt a little bit happy.

* * *

"So…" Kate tried, once her and Claire were nestled into Kate's truck. "Pirates, huh."

Claire rolled her eyes in response. It was still a little strange to Kate, to see Claire without her make-up on. Her wet, black hair now looked far too dark against her porcelain skin. She looked even smaller than usual.

"I didn't pack for that."

Claire snorted and looked out the window. Kate quickly resigned herself to the silence, and started the drive.

They rolled to a stop in front of a red light. "You can—" Kate jumped a little in her seat. Claire's voice was completely unexpected to her own thoughts. "You can…come in, if you like. Borrow some of my clothes?"

Kate's tongue was too stunned to move. She was looking directly into Claire's eyes, waiting for the girl to reveal that the thought was a joke, or mocking, or that she hadn't said it in the first place.

The car behind her bleated its horn. Kate jumped again, eyes darting to the green light taunting her from the other end of the intersection. Her truck lurched forward in her hurry to move.

"Uh," Kate said, once they were sort-of moving again. "Yeah, okay."

Claire didn't smile or nod, but released a _hmm_ noise in assent as she turned away again.

"Should I find it strange you have so many blouses?"

Claire was hunched over her computer, and there was so much noise coming out of that small appliance Kate almost thought to repeat herself. But Claire glanced up quickly, her standard response, and then looked back down. Kate bit her lip and leaned back into the walk-in closet.

She felt like she'd already overstayed her welcome. It convinced her eyes to search quicker, and in a matter of seconds she'd settled on a frilly, loose-fitting blouse. She was more than curious as to how Claire acquired it, but she didn't ask. That shirt with jeans, maybe a leather belt and a random scarf tied around her head should be fine. A little uninspired, a little lackluster, but fine.

Kate's headache suddenly came back. She raised her hand to the top half of her face, massaging her temples with her thumb and fingertips. A wince spasmed over her features.

"_How did you get this number!_"

Kate's hand dropped, as her muscles tensed in shock.

Claire's voice had just shattered through the room.

"If you – _ever_ – call me again. I will call the police!"

Kate's eyes were opened wide in their sockets, and she heard the sound of something _thunk_ onto the carpeted floor. Then she heard Claire's strangled scream of insurmountable frustration.

…This was awkward.

Half of Kate's muscles had now released, but she still felt the tension. She was standing in the middle of a small room full of shelves, a frilly loose-fitting pirate blouse in her hand. Should she…tiptoe out of the room? Pretend she hadn't heard, that she'd been on her cell phone? Her phone was in the truck. Shit. How long was acceptable to wait? A few minutes? Longer? ...Claire had to remember she was in here. But she also had to remember that Kate had just overheard something she wasn't supposed to.

_Damn._

Feeling like there was no good option, Kate carefully stepped out of the room. She tried to moderate the tension by lifting up her hands in mock-innocence.

"Don't shoot," she joked, feeling like an idiot the moment the words left her lips.

Claire was pacing on the far side of the bed, hands clutched over her ears.

"Uh…my dad's military, if that helps."

Claire released a mirthless laugh.

"It's fine," she announced, her feet still moving. "Failed stalker. You can go."

The invitation was almost too appealing. Kate couldn't seem to move.

"You have a stalker?"

Claire brought a hand to her lips and savagely started biting at her nails. Kate winced. "Not really. I mean, barely, I mean – _fuck_ I don't know he just wants to fuck me or make me see his band or whatever." Her head and shoulders shook violently. "_Fuck_ I don't know!" Claire stopped in the middle of her room, and wheeled around to confront Kate. "It's none of your bloody business!"

She knew that it was perhaps the last opportunity she'd have to go. And dumb as she might be, Kate couldn't seem to take the hint. She tried to wave down the Aussie's anger, carefully pressing it in mid-air.

"Claire, calm down. If this guy isn't listening to you, then we should call the police. Or at least your parents, or, or Jack?"

Kate blanched. _What?_ Why had that suggestion come out of her mouth? Kate stood momentarily frozen with shock. _What did _that_ mean?_

"I don't need any of them," Claire snarled, and resumed her pace. "_Certainly_ not my brother."

It felt like her lungs ceased to function all at once. It wasn't as if she wasn't breathing; she couldn't.

That…was something she hadn't been expecting. Images were starting to flash past her consciousness, trying to piece together any picture of them together. That afternoon Claire hadn't come into the hall with the rest of them after the test, but Kate had thought—Kate had thought…nothing. She hadn't thought anything of it. How much of an age difference was that? Why was Claire in his class? Why was she on his _team?_ Were they close? Did they carpool? No—that one was easy. Kate drove Claire home every day, oh wow _did he live here?_ …No, that would be absurd. Jack was in his late twenties, at the very least, and he'd certainly live on his own…somewhere.

Kate tilted her head from where her gaze was boring holes into the floor. Claire's mouth was open, and there were words coming out. She couldn't seem to hear them though, and they came out like blurred hums.

"I," Kate interrupts, "I didn't know that Jack was your brother."

"Half brother. Our fucking _father_—oh look, I just don't want to talk about it, okay?"

Kate nodded, mutely. _Okay._

* * *

Kate has been trying to find out what time it is.

"Hey—" she shouts at the next person who sits on her couch. "Hey—" she yells again when it's obvious they're intoxicated. She gives them a hard poke, and blearily they look toward the source of the pain. "_What time is it?_" she asks, her voice polite, though with a definite hint of _I'm about to be not polite._

"Fuck," this person mumbles. "I dunno. Thirteen o'clock." They giggle. "Hey Tony! It's thirteen o'clock!" This person stumbles off the couch toward Tony, giggling harder all the time.

Kate wants to go home. She's had two beers, the required minimum, and now she wants to go home. She's tired.

"_Kate!_"

She hears her name squealed from across the room. Suddenly two mostly-grown women are upon her, and Kristin's curly brown hair is going up Kate's nose. She's being lifted off the couch.

"Okay," Kristen launches into the explanation before Kate has time to muster a question. "Okay, we've set it all up for you guys, and we've let everyone know _not_ to hang around outside the door. We tried to get someone to bodyguard it, but the only volunteers were all gross about it."

"Yeah but we've definitely guaranteed you twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen. At least ten. That should be enough, right?" Marie looks skeptic.

"Right. So like. Just do whatever you wanted to do," Kristen's grin here is now so scheming, it's making speech difficult, "and tell us about it all tomorrow!"

"Wait, but I—"

Kate is thrown through a door, and the door is slammed behind her.

There is a moment where she's not sure what's happening. Then she hears music. Like…music with saxophone. She blanches, annoyed. _What?_

She notices the lighting is all by candlelight. So she turns around, and sees a guy sprawled across the bed in his boxers.

Kate stumbles back into the door.

"Uh," she manages to stammer. "I think there's been some sort of mistake."

"No mistake, darlin," he croons, and his accent is Southern. "Just thought we could get to know each other better."

"You know," Kate can't help but joke, "I feel like I'm getting a pretty good impression right now."

"Ohh," he whispers, "but I haven't even begun to _impress_ you…yet."

He sits upright a little too quickly, and deftly leaps off the bed. Kate starts to panic.

"Look I have no idea who you are, buddy, but you had better stay the _fuck_—"

"Kate," he whispers again. He's framing her position on the door – arm resting slightly above her head, body leaning over her – and she's growing slowly more annoyed.

"I'm Sawyer."

And something flashes through Kate's mind.

She's been in this situation before.

Fourteen years old. All arms and legs. She's standing in front of someone's bed knowing she's expected to join the person already in it. But she doesn't want to. She's scared. But her teammates are right outside the door, and she wouldn't be able to face them again if she didn't. So she starts to cry. And then the girls from her swim team do come in, the guy in the bed yells something crude, and Kate feels worse than she's ever felt in her life.

So Kate glares up at this 'Sawyer', full of hatred.

"Fuck that," she spits, and then rips the door open by the handle. Sawyer trips over his own feet from the force of it all, but Kate spins out of the room before she gets the vindication of seeing him fall. Her feet dance down the stairs, and she grabs her bag on the way out. Somebody poured alcohol into it.

Kate suppresses a scream of rage on the stoop right outside the front door.

"That bad, eh?"

Her eyes open. At the bottom of the porch stairs is a small man with cropped, reddish hair. He's got a star painted over one eye, and tight, flared, purple sequin pants on.

Kate can't help it. She smiles. She starts to laugh. She starts to really laugh. She's laughing so hard that she sinks to the top step, clutching her stomach, the laughter spewing out of her mouth uncontrollably, like she's watching someone that's not her, some crazy person, laugh instead. There's a small man with purple pants on and she's forcing her body to laugh.

"Ohh, it _is_ that bad."

The voice is closer now, and Kate comes back into herself to see that this short man is holding her in a loose sort of hug. He's trying to comfort her. She looks up at him.

"Maybe I should bugger off then. Get a hot dog instead. Do some homework. Tuck in early and watch Saturday morning cartoons."

"Are you…Prince?"

This man blanches. "What? No!" he pulls back, to look at himself. "No, I'm David Bowie!" He's a little perturbed by her guess, so he stands up and takes a step backwards, looking at his costume all over again. "Prince? Ah bloody hell I'm going to get that all night, Prince. No! But I've got the…the lightning, and the…"

He looks up at her, and there is serious concern on his face. "It's because I'm short, isn't it."

And Kate can't help it. She laughs again. He just looked so _little boy_ in that moment. She stops when she sees he's still nervous.

"No," she tries. "No, no, you're very…Ziggy Stardust. I'm sorry. I don't know how I made that mistake. The lightning really makes it."

* * *

They're somewhere in the Mission district and both hungry, so it doesn't take much to convince themselves that tacos from the first street vendor they come across is an excellent idea. They sit on the curb by a fire hydrant while they eat, and Kate quickly learns that Charlie is not only British, and hilarious, but he has a flask hidden inside his tight purple pants and he's a much better drinking partner.

"So…why'd you get kicked out then?"

Kate is so surprised that her confused laugh turns into a confused choke on her sip of tequila.

"What?" she asks.

"What?" he mimics, and his way of saying it makes her laugh all over again. They giggle until it's time to stop, and Kate hands back the flask while shaking her head.

"Okay…no more tequila. And you mind telling me why _you_ were kicked out?"

Charlie sighs, a big, clownish sigh. "Ohh…because I'm in love."

A couple dressed as Bert and Ernie walked past just in time to see Kate fall over from giggling so hard. While Kate was trying to recover herself, a gorilla gave Charlie's costume a thumb's up which Charlie returned with a finger gun.

"Charlie," Kate starts, her laughter soothed.

"Kate," he returns, making a laugh spurt from Kate's throat before she can control herself.

"I asked you a question."

"And it's got," he pauses, letting the dip in his tone carry the sentence into deeper meaning, "a complicated answer."

Kate laughs again. "Ann-surr," she mimics.

"Oh bollocks," he says as he looks at her fondly. "You're going to be a handful."

* * *

She's really starting to get tired of this.

As Kate feels herself swimming out of oblivion and into a more conscious state of mind, her first thoughts are not necessarily about the strange bed she's sleeping in, mostly because her mind dully realizes that she's still wearing a ridiculously ruffled shirt and a uncomfortably warm pair of jeans. A soft roll of her neck lets her know that she slept on it funny, and one of her muscles is painfully taught.

She groans as the rest of her body chips in on this misery. Whatever the contents of her stomach, they're swishing around uncomfortably, and the (however little) available light is stinging her eyes.

"Mornin' sunshine!"

A small man she recognizes as Charlie bursts through the closed door, a guitar slung around his neck. He's plucking at the strings almost absently, as if half-distracted, and he gets a face full of the pillow Kate throws in his direction.

"Oi! 'Was bein' nice!" He thinks better of it. "Oh, bugger that." And he throws it back.

Kate groans in misery as it hits her.

"Where are we…" she moans, her hair over her face, most of it tangled.

"Me mum 'n dad's, dummy," he says, back to playing the guitar. It's an electric that's not plugged in, so instead of a melody there's a ting-ting-ting to his song in various decibels. It still makes her head throb.

When Charlie doesn't leave, and it becomes obvious that he's focused more on his playing than interacting with her, Kate lifts herself from the bed and sits up. "I gotta go home," she mumbles.

Charlie nods in tempo with his tune. As an afterthought he throws in: "'Cn stay for breakfast if you like."

Kate sighs and considers this until her stomach gives another uncomfortable churn. "Nah, but thanks Charlie." She considers when she'd likely see him again. "Thanks for everything."

"Suit yourself," he wonders aloud, and on some impulse takes himself from the room.

After he leaves, Kate scans the room for her stuff. In a little pile by the bed are her jacket, wallet, cell phone and car keys, which makes her remember that her car is still parked at Claire's building, and could predictably lead to an awkward conversation. "Great," she mutters to herself, rubbing the heel of her hand against her temple. She pulls her stuff together and is about to get up to leave when she hears a crash coming from outside.

"—the _fuck?_ – _AARON!_"

Without really considering the consequences, Kate lunges for the door and flings it open. On the ground right in front of her is Charlie, his guitar sticking out at an uncomfortable angle, and the sounds of shrieking laughter tearing down the hall.

Kate has a vertigo moment as she realizes what kind of home she's looking at. The walls are a flawless cream color, with bright white crown molding. On the walls are paintings – real, actual, oils on canvas – in the sorts of frames you see in art galleries, not residential hallways.

"Don't just stand there!" a voice cries from below her, and Kate's attention is drawn to the person on the floor and the plush carpet beneath him. "Go get 'im!"

Kate sets off with trepidation in her steps. She starts to jog, thinks better of it, throws a confused glance over her shoulder, and keeps going at a slightly slower pace.

"Hello?" she calls, not entirely sure what she's looking for. She glances inside the few doors along the hall that are open, seeing marble countertops with pristine sinks, glossy wooden desks, and a racecar bed. At the end of the hall she finds the kitchen, and is unsurprised and a little mollified to realize it's more of the same.

Until she sees a small child standing on top of the kitchen island.

The surprise of it makes her stop dead in her tracks. Then she realizes that there are wheels on the bottom of the small platform, and that the whole thing is shuddering under this little boy's weight. He's jumping on it like it's an unforgiving ottoman, and each time his toes land on the wooden tabletop the whole thing edges in a different direction.

"Aaron?" Kate tests, nervousness crawling up her throat. The little boy stops jumping, surprised by the voice he doesn't recognize.

"Who're you," he demands, his accent American.

"I'm Kate," Kate says, taking a cautious step in the boy's direction. He's probably no more than five, and Kate's starting to realize how easily Aaron could hit something on his tumble down. "Whatcha got there?"

The boy looks down at his uncurled fist. There's a piece of yellow plastic in it.

"Mine now," he asserts, before glaring up at Kate. "Mine!" He starts jumping up and down again, and that's what does it – in a split second she sees the look of bewilderment on the boy's face as the table goes out from under him, gravity tugging him down to where he'll surely land with a sickening crunch. Kate doesn't have time to think about it; she lunges at him, grabbing his flailing limbs in her arms before they both hit the ground. All the air in her lungs leave at once as Aaron's weight crashes into her chest, and it's a ragged, painful breath that brings it all back in.

"No! No, no, no!" she is suddenly able to hear. Kate looks up to see not only Aaron, but now Charlie, and it's the older boy who's scratching at the younger, trying to pry open this little boy's arms and then his fists. Without thinking, Kate wrests Aaron away and shields him with half of her body.

"Charlie, what the _hell_ is going on!" she grates out, furious now from her confusion.

"He—stole—my—bloody—pick!"

This whole thing is about a _guitar pick?_

She looks back at Aaron, eyes wide now. The little boy is crying, and it makes Kate immediately soften. There's a moment where everyone tries to catch their breath. Charlie leans back on his ankles, Kate stares at Aaron with increasing sympathy, and the young boy continues to cry.

"Aaron, I'll buy that pick from you," she offers. The little boy heaves a great big sniff and rubs his first over his nose.

"It costs a million dollars," he pouts. Kate mentally rolls her eyes. "Well, Aaron, I have that, but only in…" she flounders. "Only in magical money. Do you accept magical money?"

The poor boy nods his head and sniffs a great wet sniff again.

Kate tries to make a show of reaching into her pocket for this money, but it's difficult when they're both at such an awkward angle on the kitchen floor. Kate has a fleeting thought: where are these guys' _parents?_

"There you go, Aaron." She deposits an invisible wad of money in the boy's waiting hand. Aaron looks at it for a second, and then looks up at Kate. She sees him struggling not to smile.

"No, that's only…a hundred dollars."

Kate sighs a cartoonish sigh. "Well, guess I'm gonna have to owe you then."

Aaron grins as if he likes the idea of someone owing him money, and he forks over the guitar pick. Kate immediately hands it back to Charlie, who is obviously still annoyed.

"Got that from bloody Jonny Greenwood…" he mumbles, pocketing the treasure. Kate gives him a shriveling look as Aaron climbs off of her and runs down the hall.

"Little brother?" Kate sighs.

"Little stinker, more like it." He misses the way Kate's looking at him. "Little asshole, is better. Little—"

"Okay. Okay." Kate dips her head and tries to block him out with her hands. "I get it." She looks to the clock on the wall. _Ugh_. "Charlie, I gotta go." He seems like he wants to protest as they both stand up. "Aren't your parents around?"

Charlie rubs the back of his head. "Nah, it's club day." When it's obvious Kate doesn't understand he explains: "_The_ club, you know. Country club, or something. I dunno it's some place in Marin or whatever. Every Saturday – can you believe it? 'ts the only day of the week my band can get together and instead I'm stuck babysittin—" he struggles for an appropriate name—"turnip head!"

Kate grins beside herself.

"Yeah, well, the kid obviously likes you." She looks again at the clock on the wall. She really should be getting home.

* * *

As she walks past the doorman and into the garage, Kate misses the man sitting on the smoker's bench by the front door. He's only using the spot as a place to collect his thoughts, yes, but is just as surprised to see her at this particular apartment building as Kate would have been to see him. Maybe he would have tried to call her attention (most likely not), if it weren't for the rather awkward and frustrating conversation he's just had with his half-sister, after picking her up half-way across the city and bringing her home.

But any thought of pretending he'd imagined seeing someone else instead of Kate leaves his mind when he sees her pull out of the underground garage in her old pick-up truck, still oblivious to him as she checks the street for traffic. For some reason he keeps staring at her face as she pulls her car into the nearest lane and drives right past him.

Jack easily remembers the first time he saw her.

_Why did they always seem to be getting more attractive?_ he'd thought._ Younger, and more attractive?_

The thoughts that had followed were sick, and he tried not to give himself an excuse while he berated his brain yet again.

Sitting on the bench and feeling more alone than he had in awhile, the last time he'd gone on a date came to mind. Though his face was stoic to all passersby, his mind was taunting him with images of Juliet's hopeful, confused, then crushed eyes. The awkward way he'd tried to kiss her because she wanted to kiss.

"_I need you to stay a moment," he says, and watches the new girl walk towards him. It didn't escape his notice that she spent the last half of class reading the textbook. The girl was clearly out of her league. _

_This is the same speech he'd given to Jessica Stone a few months ago. At least she was a good waterpolo player. He noticed this one wasn't moving, but distractedly looking towards the other students as they filed (slowly) out the door._

"_Kate—" and the skin at the back of his neck crawls because he's always been uncomfortable calling his students by their first names and he has no idea why he has used hers now—"can you come over here please?"_

"_Is something…wrong?" she asks, and again he's struck with all the reasons to get a new job. It's disgusting, this instinctual surge of thoughts that come into his mind, and it must be fueled by how long it's been since he's been laid. This is not a time to think about that._

"_I'm sure you're aware of the…nature, of my reputation here."_

_This is where the last few girls had dropped the pretense of being confused and started looking guilty. He wasn't necessarily surprised that she was more difficult to read, however._

"_Look," he says, and he drops his voice. "I know that certain girls…well, they manage to get into this class under false pretenses."_ _He's searching for the recognition that will surely come. He's been overhearing the same chatter from the students for the entire two and a half years he's been there, and by now he knows exactly what the students think of him. He knows that despite popular reputation, 17-year-old girls are not entirely less hormonal than their male counterparts. He's also able to accept that he's somewhat attractive to women, and that his students generally come from an upbringing where 'no' simply means 'try harder,' and boundaries are _always_ negotiable. He's tired of it._

"_I just want you to know that I won't be lenient. You got yourself into this class, and there will be no hand holding. I expect you to do all your work from this point out, and I'm not shy of flunking students just because they didn't realize what they were getting into."_

_Finally, he sees a change of expression. He can only define that she is no longer confused._

"_Sir, I really wa—"_

"_Hey," he cut her off. "I really don't need to hear it. You just need to know how this class operates. If you don't think you can handle it, you have about a week to find something else."_

_He finally feels like he understands where she's coming from, and he's somewhat relieved to realize he can treat her the same as he could anyone else. Her annoyed expression is one he's seen before._

"_I understand," she says._

_He's thankful for that. He's thankful that he doesn't have to explain anymore. He turns toward his computer, and starts looking for something to do, giving her space to leave._

"_Uhm…Mr. Shephard?"_

_He can't say he was expecting her to retaliate again. But he was firm the first time – what sort of questions could she have?_

"_I was wondering when the next tryout was, for the water polo team."_

_This is another question he's been asked before. She is not the first girl who has, failing to qualify for his science class, tried to make it onto the waterpolo team he's been coaching for the past few years. What's bugging him is a gnawing suspicion that for the first time since he's had this conversation with a student, this girl has honest intentions._


End file.
